


Dinner for One

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Angst and Feels, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Comforting Dean, Customer Castiel, Dad Talk, First Meetings, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Restaurant Owner Benny Lafitte, Restaurants, Sad Castiel, Single Parent Castiel, Some Humor, Waiter Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “You’re an asshole.” Dean shakes his head, matching the small smile on Benny’s face. He doesn’t notice someone come in until he’s eye-to-eye with him. “Ooh—um, heh, I didn’t mean you. Why would I? I don’t even…” With top-notch conversational skills like the ones Dean’s obviously equipped with, it’s no question why Benny doesn’t trust anyone else to uphold good customer service. “Welcome to Craving Cajun,” he fixes with a sigh as he takes a few more strides to hand the man a paper-copy menu.





	Dinner for One

**Author's Note:**

> I legitimately was making myself instant Mac and this idea came to me before I even put it in the microwave. And now ya'll are reading it.  
> Yo ho, yo ho, it's a writer's life for me.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, there may be some minor grammatical errors in here or weird sentences cos I was kinda lazy on beta-ing this, but fuck it. I'm proud of it, minimal edits and all. (I type *before* I go back to read this and correct 5 different writing abnormalities.)

"What about Cajun Soup for the Soul?"

"Nice ring," Benny says, moving the pot of gumbo from one burner to the next, "but it's way too long.”

“Cajun Creations?”

“Alliteration is overrated. Cajun would do fine."

" _Cajun?"_ Dean scoffs, moving to the next table. "Well that's... honest."

"What's wrong with honesty?"

"I mean, nothing, unless you want people to have the amount of trust in you as they do the parlor across the street that says ‘Tattoo’.”

"But imagine you're a teenage girl dyin’ to get that ironic quote tattoo you found on Pinterest," Benny points out, pouring himself a bowl from the thin silver ladle in the pot and leans against the front counter to cradle it in his large hands, "the same goes for food. If you're cravin' it enough, you'll buy it."

"That's it."

"That's what?"

"Craving Cajun."

Benny hums through a spoonful of soup, "Mmm, I like it.”

Dean stills his wash cloth to turn to Benny with a busty grin. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Benny affirms, enthusiastically spooning more gumbo into his mouth, “it’s hard to make gumbo this good. I mean, there’s just the right amount’a salt and pepper and that cayenne can send the Tasmanian Devil into a fire whirl.” He manages to tinge the short brown hairs beneath his nose orange shoveling it into his mouth, his upper beard closer resembling lit firecrackers. “And, ya know, the name’s good too.”

“You’re an asshole.” Dean shakes his head, matching the small smile on Benny’s face. He doesn’t notice someone come in until he’s eye-to-eye with him. “Ooh—um, heh, I didn’t mean you. Why would I? I don’t even…” With top-notch conversational skills like the ones Dean’s obviously equipped with, it’s no question why Benny doesn’t trust anyone else to uphold good customer service. “Welcome to Craving Cajun,” he fixes with a sigh as he takes a few more strides to hand the man a paper-copy menu.

The man smiles. It’s the kind of smile that takes a lot of effort: tight, thin-lipped around his five-o-clock shadow. His eyelids are like two broken wings resting above navy blue eyes. He runs a hand through his messy dark hair as he takes the menu from Dean. “Do you guys have mac n’ cheese, by chance?”

Dean throws his head to Benny, who, judging by the fine purse of his lips is just as surprised. The man seems well-respected the way he’s dressed, in a blue tie over a tuxedo partly covered by his large beige trenchcoat. He’s even wearing slacks and shiny loafers. Not only that, but he has a deep, raspy voice—the kind you wouldn’t want over your shoulder when you’re playing Tetris on your work computer.

“Um… yeah, we do, actually,” Benny replies, setting his gumbo down, “it’s a three-cheese with andouille sausage and bell peppers.”

“Hold the sausage and bell pepper, if it’s no trouble. Thank you,” he says, nodding before handing the menu back to Dean, who gestures to anywhere in the small, vacant restaurant. He picks the table closest to the exit and orders a glass of milk. When Dean returns a few seconds later, he finds the man engrossed in his phone, which isn’t an unusual sight granted it’s the twenty-first century, but it seems to make him even sadder.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Dean asks once the steaming plate is set in front of him.

The man looks over at Dean with that same forced smile. “I think I’m okay, thank you again.”

Dean nods and continues wiping down the tables, though with a little more hesitancy the more he glances over at the tired, handsome patron eating his mac n’ cheese.

 

 

The man returns the next day, when they’re a little busier. (By a little, Dean means more than one other person in there at once.) He chooses the same table, orders the same dish, and still keeps close tabs on his phone, leaving almost no room for conversation beyond asking if he wants a refill.

 

 

Dean’s curiosity doesn’t peak until the third day.

He’s watching the man from the kitchen where he’s preparing one of his favorite burgers—an original recipe not even Benny knows and is just listed on the menu as the “House Special Burger”. The man uses the hand not on his phone to slap down his usual five-dollar tip on his thirteen-dollar dish before slinging his tote over his shoulder.

Halfway to the door just a few steps away, Dean calls, “Wait!”

The man turns to Dean rushing to the floor to pick up a nougat bar. “This fell out of your bag.”

It’s like the man opens his mouth before remembering he’s underwater, the way his throat hitches seeing the object. “Thank you,” he says, returning to the surface to respire, taking the bar from Dean, “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. Dean, by the way,” he offers, lending out his hand.

The man slides his own into Dean’s easily. For a man who looks all business, he doesn’t have too firm a grip. “Castiel,” he says, and there’s that hint of a smile again. The one that’s like a flower wedged between a sidewalk crack, easy to overlook you don’t pay attention. Easy to step on and make smaller, too.

Dean can tell Cas isn’t one for conversation, so he nods and says, “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” Cas replies, the smallest bit of hope filling Dean when Cas turns back to wave before pushing the door.

 

 

They’ve done this so many times, Cas doesn’t even have to sit before his order’s ready, which gives Dean a lot less time to talk to him. Not only that, but an increasing amount of customers are barreling through. And, funny enough, they all know Cas when they pass him.

They’re even dressed like him, leading Dean to believe they’re coworkers.  There’s even this one girl, cute, tall with rosy high-set cheeks and an Anastasia Steele haircut, who Cas seems even _more_ pained to talk to. Especially when she touches him on the shoulder every so often like he’s Christian Grey.

Dean decides to intervene because, you know, to keep the customer happy and stuff. “Can I help you, miss?”

The girl swivels around, still beaming from her one-sided conversation with Cas. She has a classic ‘Hello my name is’ tag that you’d only see at work functions or give as a gag gift to someone that reads Hannah. “Oh not at all, but thank you. I was actually just thinking about saving you a table to clean and dining with my boss. He’s just the greatest.” Another lingering touch to his shoulder and even a onceover. Cas visibly gulps.

“Hmm, see that’s going to be a problem,” Dean says, shaking his head.

Hannah tilts hers. “Why’s that?”

“Well, because _I’m_ dining with him tonight.” Cas’s eyes blow wide as Dean scoots into the booth so he’s thigh-to-thigh with Cas. Hannah’s smile quickly turns acidic. “What? Two men can’t share a dinner together? Man, it’s a no-brainer we’re all tired and hungry—if we nitpick our food as much as we do other people, we’re never gonna feel a hundred percent.” Dean leans in to mutter: “And trust me; you don’t wanna get on the chef’s bad side on the former. He has fangs when he gets angry.”

Too stunned to even respond, Hannah scurries off, her high heels clanking against the tile in angry haste. Once she’s out of sight, Dean scoots out of Cas’s side and sinks into the opposite side so he’s sitting across from him. “Thank you,” Cas breathes, relief passing over him like boiling water after the pasta’s in the pan. “Hannah’s nice, but she can be a bit…”

“Overbearing?” Dean finishes, scoffing. “Cas, I’m surprised you haven’t fired her for sexual harassment!”

Cas sighs, “It’s my first time managing people, I just don’t wanna be seen as the bad guy just yet.”

“Cas, that’s not how it is, man—if anything, they’ll respect you more. And _thank you_ for it.”

Cas doesn’t seem too convinced. His frown doesn’t budge, but the color’s coming back to his tanned face at least. “I’ll think about it. I don’t know, I guess I’m just not all there lately.”

Dean leans forward, linking his hands when his flannel-decked forearms come into contact with the table. “Talk to me.”

Cas draws his bottom lip in and looks down before starting—but not at the floor, at his pocket, where his phone presumably is. He speaks as he breathes out, “I, um… I have a son, Jack. He’s six. He loves nougat for a skinny little guy and hates anything to be on his skin but clothes. We learned that the hard way with the face painting lady at the Renaissance Fair. But at least I don’t have to worry about him getting tattoos.” Cas laughs, but it’s brief. Like getting the tail-end of rain from the state over.

“He’s staying with his mom in California for the summer, which I have no problem with. We have a working relationship, Kelly and I. Her husband is Vince Vincente’s manager, so he takes care of them. Last time Kelly texted was last night, saying they’re going to Disneyland. And a few days before that.” Cas fidgets in his seat. “Having him gone, it’s like a colossal piece missing. I don’t know what to do outside of being a full-time dad, you know? I don’t know who I am, so I just try to hold onto him until he comes back.”

“The mac n’ cheese,” Dean says.

Cas nods. “It’s his favorite. Maybe almost as much as nougat.”

Dean offers a small smile. Cas really does look exhausted. He’s like a sponge for grief, soaking in every drop he can and leaning against the kitchen sink, just waiting for someone to relieve him. Dean may not know what it’s like to have a family, but he’s come close to it. “I had a girlfriend. Her name was Lisa. We ended up reconnecting through Facebook and over a few scattered lunches and dinners. Once, I even went to her son’s baseball game. That’s when I met Ben… this bright-eyed little underdog. And to be honest, I fell deeper in love with the idea of being a father figure than being Lisa’s boyfriend… until she introduced me to Matt.”

“Matt?”

“Her fiancé.”

Cas’s mouth parts and the wings resting on his eyes start to droop even more. “Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. You know, I saw how happy he made Ben and that’s what got me through it,” Dean replies. “And by the sounds of it, you’re a Matt. And that makes you enough.”

“I don’t know,” Cas says, lips lifting by their own accord this time, even baring some teeth, “being a Dean sounds like a pretty good deal, too.”

Dean blushes, but doesn’t have too much time to literally twiddle his thumbs when Benny barks from the kitchen, Louisianan accent making its debut appearance, “Dean! I pay ya to _serve_ the customers, not _date_ ‘em!”

“Go, we’ll talk later,” Cas promises, smiling even wider.

Dean nods and is only slightly disappointed when he doesn’t get to say goodbye to Cas because on his merchant receipt next to a five-dollar tip is Cas’s number.

 


End file.
